


Beginner's Luck

by frostwitch



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: ASD (autistic) Nagito Komaeda, Bisexual Hajime Hinata, Bisexual Hinata Hajime, Bottom Komaeda Nagito, DR2 Spoilers, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, Everyone Is Gay, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Gay Nagito Komaeda, Hajime Hinata has Depression, Hajime is dealing with some nasty dysphoria, Hinata Hajime Swears, Hinata Hajime and Kamukura Izuru Share a Body Simultaneously, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Komaeda Nagito Being Komaeda Nagito, Komaeda Nagito Is a Little Shit, Komaeda Nagito's Luck Cycle, Komahina - Freeform, M/M, Mutual Pining, NONBINARY BOY NAGITO KOMAEDA, Nagito Komaeda has BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder), Nagito's Luck Cycle, Romantic Fluff, Sick Komaeda Nagito, Spoilers, TRANS BOY HAJIME HINATA, Tsundere Hajime, big spoon Hajime Hinata, both Hajime and Nagito have Anxiety, but izuru is a big grumpy headmate and prefers to sleep all the time if he can get away with it, little spoon Nagito Komaeda, mild to moderate angst in the beginning, nagito goes to therapy, nobody has their old memories back (but izuru keeps his I guess), references to past/temporary character death, set after DR2 (the game) but before the last canon content involving all DR2 characters, slow burn (but not that slow b/c I'm impatient and gay), technically not a post-canon fix-it fic, well not really but to be fair post apocalyptic worlds don't have therapists, what's the emotional equivalent of 'edging'?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24791419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostwitch/pseuds/frostwitch
Summary: Nagito Komaeda was an up-and-running contender for 'Ultimate Pain in the Ass' since the day he joined Hope's Peak Academy, so Hajime Hinata wasn't remotely surprised when he slipped out of a medically-induced coma only to slip right back into a vegitative state.With a mutated strain of the despair disease attacking his body, Nagito's time is running out. It's up to Hajime, the only person with enough talent to reactivate the Future Foundation's virtual server and safely re-enter the digital world, to save him. However, Nagito's mindscape is a dangerous place that reflects not only his mental and emotional state, but his innermost secrets and darkest desires, one of which--upon coming to light--could shatter his fragile psyche permanently.All of Hajime's newfound talents are put to the test as he tries to save his former friend's life. Will they become something more than friends in the process?
Relationships: Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito, komahina
Comments: 32
Kudos: 209





	1. I Won't Let You Die (Again)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Hajime's POV (Limited Third Person) -
> 
> Hajime returns to the fabricated version of Jabberwock Island and has a long conversation with Nagito about the residual effects of his post-mortem trauma. (Oops, there's only one bed!)

“What was it like?” Hajime asked. 

“... Dying, you mean?” 

Nodding, Hajime swiped his tongue across the roof of his mouth to preoccupy himself. He figured the elephant in the room should be addressed sooner rather than later. Rip the bandaid off before the wound could fester.

"Hmm."

Nagito gazed up at the stars.

Had he spoken any softer, his words would’ve scattered on the wind. The worn green hoodie that tucked comfortably around his shoulders on most days was nowhere to be found, leaving behind the shell of a pale twenty-year-old boy. Something about it made him look... naked. Without the hoodie, he bore a striking resemblance to a scarecrow with coal for eyes.

Maybe the thought would've been funnier to Hajime if the past couple months hadn't made hell look like a honeymoon suite.

Nagito's white shirt was thoroughly soaked, clinging to his chest and stomach. The abstract red design in its center was smeared with dried blood, and his sleeves were too short to conceal the pattern of horizontal needle-thin scars on his ashen skin. Without its usual baggy folds to conceal them, his ribs jutted out from his body by a solid half-centimeter. Hajime counted each individual bump, eyes slowly climbing up towards his hollowed-out collarbones.

An icy gust of air bore into the skin of his neck. Stiffening, Hajime pulled the grey sweatshirt tighter around his shoulders. At first he hadn't seen the point in preparing something so trivial, but now he was grateful he'd allowed Sonia to talk him into wearing one. Nagito, however, didn't have that luxury. The wind tangled its fingers in his wispy hair, wracking his thin frame with an array of violent shudders.

_He's going to get hypothermia if he's not careful._

Examining Nagito's lips and fingers for the telltale blotches of purple and blue that would inevitably creep towards his heart, Hajime forced his muscles to relax. Another chilly breeze rustled their hair, making the palm trees around them creak and sway. Hajime could taste the soft tang of sea salt on his lips. It was almost identical to the real thing, but something about the way it coiled around him like a snake left a strange taste in his mouth. 

“There was a lot of blood. My throat was on fire from screaming. Or maybe the smoke..." He trailed off, glancing in Hajime's direction. "But then the poison kicked in, so I died pretty quickly.” 

Casting his eyes down at the shore, Nagito sat up. His pants were soaked up to his kneecaps thanks to the evening’s rising tide, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Hajime knew the other boy was only able to maintain his composure because of how tightly he gripped that twisted ideology of his, a double-edged sword that served as his sole coping mechanism, but it didn't change the fact that he felt mildly caught off guard by Nagito's ability to mask his pain. His Ultimate Psychologist talent provided a decent amount of insight into the other boy's behavior, but Hajime found the answers his brain provided to be unsatisfactory.

Maybe Hajime was expecting too much from Izuru Kamukura. Maybe he expected too much from himself. Whatever the case, he could say with one-hundred percent certainty that something about this whole scenario felt strange. Which he had known would happen, but hadn't quite fully anticipated the extent of his own inadequacy.

Despite his frustrating inability to get his bearings, Hajime was at least certain of one thing:

Nagito might be able to brush off the occasional mean-spirited joke, but even without the memories of his life as Junko's brainwashed slave, he was undoubtedly struggling under the same burden all the remnants carried--taking responsibility for the despair he spread, and facing the damage he caused.

“At first, we thought you were tortured for information."

Nagito cocked an eyebrow, politely feigning interest in the semantics of his own death.

But…”

But then Hajime realized there was only one person capable of treating him with such needless cruelty--Nagito himself. 

The wispy-haired boy traced wavy circles in the sand, waiting patiently for Hajime to continue. His left arm tensed all the way down to the spot where the saw's teeth had frantically gnawed through the limb, and the bandages there constricted his movement even further.

For a brief moment, Hajime wondered if he regretted cutting it off. But then, he remembered this place was a world of Nagito’s own creation. If he wanted his hand back, he would currently have it.

It occurred to him that this might be one of Nagito’s many ways of punishing himself. He had an unhealthy obsession with the inner workings of the universe and maintaining its proper balance, which meant he was no doubt seeking some sort of atonement through depriving himself of one functioning limb. The thought boiled unpleasantly in Hajime's stomach, so he brushed it aside. 

"It really wasn't so bad." 

Those mechanical words pulled Hajime back to the conversation at hand. Shaking his head in disbelief at Nagito's stubbornness, he crossed his arms.

“... You were stabbed clean through the chest and pinned to the floor by the force of a spear, then you suffocated from smoke and breathed in poison gas from a grenade. It must have been painful,” he offered, watching his companion closely.

“Not really. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but that’s all I can remember.” The pale boy’s gaze skimmed over the waves, eventually settling on something beyond the fading horizon.

“Komaeda… If you don’t want to talk about it, you can just say so. It's okay if you're not ready.” 

Eyes unfocused, Nagito pursed his lips, pretending to lick them clean of sea salt.

“It’s not that, I just don’t see much of a point in reminiscing. The experience wasn’t... pleasant, but it’s not like I was lying in a pool of my own blood for more than a couple minutes.” 

“Fair enough.” Hajime sighed, scratching the back of his neck. Nagito’s response wasn’t exactly convincing, but he decided not to push the subject much further. 

“At least tell me this--do you feel any different?”

“Huh?" He blinked, taken aback by the vaguely worded question. "Sorry, I’m not sure what you mean.” 

Nagito met his gaze this time, and it took every ounce of willpower in Hajime’s body not to flinch. He kept eye contact between them steadily, taking note of how clouded his former classmate’s eyes had become. Instead of cutting right to the heart of the tension between them, he decided to try a more indirect approach.

“Well, for starters, you... you haven’t called me by my name since it happened. Since you… died.” 

Hajime's throat cracked on the last word. He tried to play it off as a cough and glanced away, not wanting the other boy to see the genuine disappointment in his eyes. Nagito was quiet for a moment as he surveyed the mood between them. Then, slowly, he constructed a response he didn't think would lead to being reprimanded for insensitivity. Hajime was almost impressed. 

“Does that bother you?” 

There were no hints of judgment in Nagito’s voice, but his words were laced with an almost childlike delight. Hajime decided not to indulge in whatever bizarre fantasies currently occupied his mind.

“Well, no, not particularly," Hajime scratched the back of his head. "But… I don’t know, it’s hard to explain. Something about you is different.” 

Pausing to meet his gaze once more, Hajime took a moment to think about how he wanted to articulate the shift he sensed in their conversational dynamic. 

“You’re more blunt than usual,” he mused, “and at the same time, less… predictable.”

“Oh, I see.”

_Exactly like that._

Hajime’s eyebrows knitted a crease in his forehead as he processed their exchange up to this point. The moon peeked out from behind a distant cloud, lacing his heterochromic eyes with an intense gleam. 

“... What do you want me to say, Hajime?” Nagito tilted his head to one side thoughtfully. “Unfortunately, I can't read minds. I'll only be useful to you if you let yourself ask questions you actually want to know the answer to.” 

“Fine.” Exasperated, Hajime shifted his weight to face Nagito. He was a confrontational guy by nature, but that didn’t mean he had to enjoy it. “Why do you want to stay here so badly?” 

There wasn’t a single other living soul on the island, much less an Ultimate for him to worship. While Hajime had some theories, he wanted to hear the truth directly from Nagito's lips. 

The boy threw his head back and laughed softly, but the sound was hollow and mirthless.

“I guess I got tired of pretending someone like me has a place in the world.” 

And there it was. Hajime knew it would only be a matter of time before Nagito fell back into his predictable pattern of self-deprecation. The hint of bitterness that crept into those words wasn't lost on him.

“Komaeda, you can’t mean that.” 

With a deadpan expression, Nagito shrugged. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not lying. I get why you wouldn’t believe me though, I wouldn’t listen to a worthless piece of garbage either.” 

“Stop it. You know that’s not what I meant, don’t twist my words.” 

The words came out sharper than he had intended, but the relief that flickered across Nagito’s face piqued his interest. 

“...Ah, of course. To think I could understand the intention behind your words was very presumptuous of me.” 

Hajime’s green eye twitched slightly as he took a deep breath. He needed to regain his composure if he was going to probe Nagito for straightforward answers.

“This isn’t about me, it’s about _you_. I don’t understand why you enjoy beating yourself up so much, it’s not healthy.” 

Nagito shot him an incredulous look.

“I chose despair over hope. I was weak, and for that, I deserve to stay here." A dry, raspy laugh scraped at the inside of his throat as he spread his arms for emphasis. "Look at all the people who have died because of me, Hinata. Someone like me can’t possibly deserve to be here any more than they do.” 

_If he was lying to me right now, I'd know._

“Am I wrong?” 

_He really thinks everything is his fault._

“Yeah, you’re wrong.” 

He couldn’t help it, those scathing words slipped out on their own. Nagito was infamously defenseless when it came to the quality of his character, but this? This was a new low, even for the boy who couldn’t go more than five minutes without calling himself trash. 

Giving him a wan smile, the wisp of a man hugged his right knee to his chest. 

“You sound pretty confident. I guess you really doubt me that much.” Shrugging noncommittally, he added, “But I deserve it.”

Balling his hands into fists without noticing, the spiky-haired boy shot him a glare. “I didn’t come here to listen to you talk shit about yourself.”

Nagito sighed like he'd gotten into an argument with a petulant child. “Then why are you here? Honestly, this was such a pointless endeavor. Go back home... be with your friends... leave me to rot.” 

Hajime closed the distance between them in one swift movement, yanking the pale boy closer to him by the collar of his shirt. Their faces were barely a couple inches apart, and despite Hajime’s lack of physical strength, his grip never loosened. When he spoke, the unsteady wavering of his voice was gone, replaced by a low and menacing growl tinged with malice. 

“I’m not letting anyone else die in front of me.” 

“Hajime…?” Nagito mumbled, shocked at the other boy's boldness. His pupils dilated, and his tone was shaky with an emotion Hajime couldn’t quite identify. 

He could feel Nagito’s breath on his nose, and though he vehemently denied it, his skin itched for the warmth of his touch. It was alarming at first--he thought he killed and buried these feelings long ago, but apparently not. For the moment, all he could do was try to ignore the heat of his blood as it pumped through his body at twice the usual tempo. Maybe he could pass it off as stress, or better yet, anger. 

“...I don’t give a shit what you want. You already killed yourself once when I couldn’t stop you.” 

The pale boy’s eyes widened. 

“I don’t understand… why you care so much about me.” 

Clearly, the idea that someone would want to keep him alive was completely foreign to him. Hajime gritted his teeth. 

“I’m not sure what’s worse, knowing how much you want to throw away your life after so many people risked--and lost--theirs to keep you alive, or knowing I’m the wrong person to help you, but I’m the only one who hasn’t given up on you. I lost so many people I loved because of one stupid, selfish mistake, and I’m not going to let you do the same.” 

Hajime let go, waiting for the other boy to gather his wits. A long minute passed before the two were ready to face each other again. When Nagito finally broke the silence, there was a roughness to his voice. 

“When you found my body, did you mourn me?” He asked hoarsely.

Slowly, Hajime shook his head. 

“We weren’t given much time to mourn anyone,” he explained, “we had to collect evidence for the trial. By the end of the game--when we finally got a chance to catch our breath, we learned that most of you weren’t dead, and spent all our time trying to save you.” 

“I see.”

Nagito let his brisk response hang in the air for a moment before raising his head once more, a shadow falling over his eyes. 

“Were you relieved I was gone?”

If Hajime didn’t have access to an unlimited reserve of ultimate talents, he wouldn’t have been able to detect the slight hint of pain in his companion’s voice. That and his dangerously bright eyes betrayed him. 

Instinctively, he reached out and placed a hand on Nagito’s shoulder, gripping it firmly. 

“Hey. Look at me.”

Slowly, Nagito lifted his gaze to meet the spiky haired boy’s once more. His eyes were puffy and red-rimmed with dark purple circles underneath, but dry. 

Hajime instantly felt a twinge of guilt. Trying not to let it overtake him, he crushed it before it could reach his throat.

“I… don’t want you to die. You’re-- you were my first friend. Even if I don’t understand you, that doesn’t change the fact that I’m worried about you.” 

Shock flickered across Nagito’s face. “You’re worried about me?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?! Of course I am! You’re living all alone on a deserted island with nobody left to torment but yourself. Do you really think I could just let you stay here, knowing you’ll find another way to kill yourself?” Hajime spat, the skin of his knuckles stretched thin and white. 

He abruptly stood up, towering over his bewildered companion. Said companion was visibly rattled. Instinctively, Nagito curled into an upright position, raising his right arm to protect his head. His eyes were shut tight as he braced for the impact of fists against brittle bone, but the blow never came.

“Hey… hey. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I’m not going to hit you.” 

Swallowing hard, Hajime took a step back to give him breathing room. He knew Nagito was an inch or two taller than him (at least, when he stood up straight), but when he curled up into a ball like that, he looked no bigger than a child. 

“I wouldn’t do that, Komaeda. I won’t hurt you. I promise.” 

Hajime took a deep breath, steeling his nerves. This part was crucial, he couldn’t afford to fuck things up.

“You’re not okay. No matter how much you lie to yourself or the rest of us, that’s not going to change.” 

Leaning down once more, he extended his hand towards Nagito. The blood in his cheeks grew warm, but he showed no other outward signs of slipping composure. 

“So… let me help you, okay?” 

The pale boy stared at Hajime’s outstretched hand. His eyes were brimming with a forlorn glimmer. As if in a trance, Nagito reached out and took the invitation. His hand was ice cold, Hajime noted, as he hauled his companion to his feet. Gingerly, he wrapped his companion’s arm around him, then began to make his way toward the small cabin tucked away behind the island’s lush tropical greenery. Nagito started to protest, but stopped upon seeing his helper’s no-nonsense glare. 

They gradually made their way down the sandy path, taking care not to trip over any rocks or fallen tree branches. A warm breeze brushed against Hajime’s forehead, parting his spiky bangs and tousling Nagito’s fluffy white curls. They bounced loosely in the wind, some sticking to his face, which had become slick with sweat. He stumbled, narrowly avoiding a fall by gripping onto his helper’s shirt. 

Hajime steadied his companion, eyeing him carefully. 

“I’m not made of glass, you know. You can lean your full weight on me.” 

“Sorry…” Nagito mumbled. 

But Hajime wasn’t done scolding him, not yet. And then there was the matter of the pent-up frustration he felt every time he tried to reason with his former classmate.

He needed to be taught a lesson.

Hajime looked down at the other boy, the shadow his hair cast over his face concealing the menacing glint in his eyes. 

“Hey, are you sure you’re not tired?” 

“Hm…?” Nagito tilted his head to the side, looking up at Hajime with a furrowed brow. “No, it’s alright, I can still--” Hajime cut him off. 

“Nonsense, I won’t let you overexert yourself for my sake.”

In one swift motion, Hajime scooped the unsuspecting boy off his feet and swept him into his arms. Nagito barely had time to process what happened before he was pulled flush against Hajime’s chest, bridal style. 

“H-Hajime!”

  
  
“Don’t talk, you’ll just feel worse.”

Without much difficulty, he carried his companion the rest of the way. 

After a short amount of time, Nagito’s head started to feel very warm, and Hajime made a mental note to check his temperature before they settled in for the night. 

Fortunately, Mikan had insisted on sending him in with a first aid kit for emergencies. While her specialty was mending physical wounds, he had faith that Kazuichi’s technical skills and Izuru’s wide range of talents would be enough to translate the medical supplies into a virtual equivalent. Evidence of Nagito’s mental state manifested in and on the body of his virtual avatar, which meant they could be treated like any physical wound. Therapy wouldn’t hurt, though. Hajime huffed at the memory of Ibuki calling him the ‘Ultimate Therapist.’ She technically wasn’t wrong, but even just the thought of the obnoxious grin on her face when she said it had the power to make Hajime bristle. 

When they reached the cabin’s entrance, Hajime hesitated. For a moment he contemplated letting Nagito walk to bed on his own, but decided it was better to be safe than sorry. Pausing briefly to turn on the lights, he readjusted the pale boy in his arms and headed for the only closed off room. Inside was a king sized bed along with minimalistic furnishings, including two nightstands, a lamp in the far corner, and a small bookshelf. The bed had very thin blankets, and with the violent way his companion was shivering, they probably wouldn’t be enough to keep him warm. 

Gently, he lowered Nagito onto the mattress, mindful not to place him too close to its edge. Immediately, he snatched a pillow and held it to his face, avoiding eye contact. 

_He’s probably ashamed he got carried like a baby._

_Good._

Satisfied with the result of his handiwork, Hajime went hunting for an extra blanket. He quickly found that most of the drawers and cupboards were bare, with the exception of a couple dented pots and pans. He didn’t find any silverware, chopsticks, or even bowls, which alarmed him--how was Nagito eating? 

Of course; he _wasn't_ eating.

With a sharp sigh, he rubbed his forehead. The answer, one he should have realized from the beginning, was simple: he wasn’t. No wonder the poor bastard had gotten himself sick. That, he decided, would be a problem for tomorrow’s Hajime. For now, he needed to focus on finding a way to keep Nagito warm enough to sleep through the night. 

“Blanket, blanket… there’s got to be one somewhere,” he muttered under his breath. 

After searching every possible nook and cranny of Nagito’s cabin for one goddamn blanket and finding less than nothing, Hajime reluctantly conceded. Halfheartedly, he told himself that maybe once Nagito was feeling better the cabin would restock itself. As of right now, it was barely habitable. Hajime definitely had his work cut out for him. But he didn’t really mind too much. It was like busy work, and he was one of the only people on the planet who took pleasure in busy work.

_“Why are you trying so hard to save him?”_

Mahiru’s words echoed in his mind. 

Hajime pointedly ignored them. He didn’t have to answer to anyone, he reassured himself. Besides, nobody wanted to see any of their former classmates die. Not even the annoying, obnoxious, and downright dangerous ones. And Nagito… well, somehow he knew Nagito wanted to be better. Call it a gut feeling, or an instinct that ran deeper than the blood coursing through his veins--he knew Nagito wasn’t a bad person. He just knew. And he couldn’t stand by and watch someone with a good heart waste away into nothing. 

“H… Hajime…?” Nagito’s voice croaked from the bedroom. Wishing he could do more, Hajime returned to the pale boy’s side empty-handed. 

“Hey, I’m here, what is it?” 

“Nothing, I just… wanted to make sure you’re… okay,” he said, wincing slightly as though the very act of speaking took a toll on him. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” 

“Good, that’s... good.” 

God, he looked so pitiful in that state. 

“I’ll get you some water.” 

A minute later, Hajime returned with a glass in his hand. “If you wake up during the night and feel thirsty, drink this.” He placed it on the nightstand within his companion’s reach. 

Nagito opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t find any blankets.” Then, an idea popped into his head. “But, you can borrow this if you want.” Hajime tugged off his Hope’s Peak Academy sweatshirt and placed it on Nagito’s lap, who looked up at him dumbfounded. 

“Too… kind,” he muttered, nudging it back in the other boy’s direction. It was almost painful to watch him struggle so hard to speak.

Exhausted, he shook his head. “Komaeda, please.” 

After a few seconds of quiet deliberation, Nagito slipped the sweatshirt on over his head. The static rustled through his poofy hair, somehow making it even messier. It was a couple sizes too big at the chest, and the cotton sat loosely on his shoulders, exposing his prominent collarbones. He blinked a couple times, as if dazed by this unexpected development.

“Oh, sorry, it’s probably a little sweaty. You can take it off if it starts to smell bad."

Right on cue, Nagito’s face grew even more flushed, prompting a concerned but oblivious Hajime to check his temperature. 

“Hmm… it says you’re a little warmer than average, but that’s barely a low grade fever.” Hajime frowned, pressing a hand to the other boy’s forehead. Nagito bit his lip, keeping as still as possible for someone so touch starved. 

“Weird. Maybe it’s something else. If you start to feel cold again, let me know.” Nagito nodded. 

“So… I don’t suppose you have a couch for me to sleep on?” 

Who was he kidding? There wasn’t even an extra chair. The pale boy hung his head. 

“Ah. Guess that’s a no.” 

Nagito thought for a moment, then looked up at Hajime with a sheepish expression. He moved towards the edge of the bed, patting the empty side as if to say: _You can sleep here._

“Uh… okay. Sure. Thanks.” 

Putting as much distance between himself and Nagito as humanly possible, Hajime reclined on his side of the bed, turning away from the other boy to face the window. 

  
“ ‘Night, Komaeda.” He received a soft, labored sigh in response. 

An hour passed, and Nagito’s breathing settled into a steady rhythm. Hajime didn’t have to turn over to know he was finally asleep. Maybe he should try to get some sleep, too. He closed his eyes and his consciousness dissolved into the gentle darkness surrounding them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Answer at least one of the following questions in the comments below to help me continue writing quality KomaHina content!*
> 
> \- What was your favorite line / exchange of dialogue? 
> 
> \- Would you like to see more of Hajime's tsundere side in future chapters?
> 
> \- What surprised you the most about the direction this chapter took, if anything at all?
> 
> \- Since the beginning of this fic is set a couple weeks before Nagito's birthday (April 28), what do you think Hajime should do to help him celebrate his birthday (in AND/OR outside of the virtual world)? 
> 
> Thanks for reading, see you again in the next chapter!


	2. Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nagito recovers from his sudden onset illness thanks to Hajime's care, only to realize physical frailty is the least of his problems.

Swaddled in a sweatshirt that smelled like coffee grinds, the ocean breeze, and something a little more intoxicating he couldn’t quite place, Nagito buried his face in the crook of his elbow and was out like a light. A dreamless sleep awaited him; or at least, if he did dream, it wasn’t a dream he would remember. 

Nagito couldn’t remember the last time he slept through the night. He was used to forgetting about the passage of time, and the light of dawn often snuck up on him after hours of tossing and turning in bed. When he did fall asleep, it was in the middle of the day, and he never got more than an hour or so to himself before someone or something interrupted his rest. It was just his luck. 

But then Hajime came back. 

The next morning, he awoke to Hajime’s lingering scent. All traces of warmth were gone from the other side of the bed, but for some reason, it still felt like they were laying side by side in the same bed. Several moments of processing later, Nagito pieced the puzzle together--the reason Hajime’s scent was so strong probably had something to do with the fact that his nose was buried in the other boy’s pillow. His arms wrapped around it, clutching it close to his chest before he could fully process what was going on. 

“A-Ah!” 

Caught off guard by the realization, Nagito hurled the pillow towards the open door frame. It flew through the air, gracefully smacking Hajime in the face. Mortified, Nagito covered his mouth and apologized profusely under his breath. With a muffled sigh, the boy tossed it aside, completely nonplussed. 

“Thanks for that. I guess someone’s feeling better this morning.”

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Hajime hesitated before placing something down on Nagito’s nightstand. Only then did the pale boy’s eyes settle on the tray in his hands. Was that… oatmeal? And where did he manage to find fresh fruit? As far as he knew, the island could be barren. 

“Your stomach growled so loudly it woke me up, so I made breakfast,” Hajime stated flatly.

After a couple of seconds of quizzical staring, it finally clicked. 

_He lost sleep because of me_. 

The nape of his neck burning hotly, Nagito felt his complexion pinken as his skin grew slick with sweat. He gave his old friend a shaky smile, barely managing to pass it off as natural.

“How kind of you to waste your time on me, Hajime.”

“...What exactly makes you think I wasted my time? It only takes two minutes to microwave oatmeal, and there are five coconut trees within a ten feet radius of your cabin.” 

With a wan smile, Nagito pushed the tray back towards Hajime, shaking his head. He ignored the hunger pangs that screamed at him to eat something, biting the inside of his cheek to keep up appearances. 

“Thank you, but I’m not hungry.”

Crossing his arms, Hajime snorted in disbelief. “Bullshit.” He closed the distance between them in two steps, and before Nagito could react accordingly, those breathtaking eyes were staring directly into his own, probing them for the truth. 

A shiver of pleasure overtook his body, the exertion of it causing him to double over as his stomach let out an unmistakable growl. Hajime cocked an eyebrow at the sound. 

_I don’t deserve this_. 

“Wow, I was so stupid. To think scum like me has any right to deny such a grand gesture of kindness is truly disgusting.” 

He reached for the tray under Hajime’s watchful eye, taking a scoop of the soggy brown pudding. The next thing he knew, his spoon was on the floor, and his hand was trembling violently with effort. 

“Ah... I knew I was useless, but this is a new level of disappointing. I’ve reached a new low--” 

“Shut up and wait right there.”

Hajime wiped the floor clean with the napkin in his hand, returning from the kitchen area with a clean spoon. There was a solemn expression on his face that made him look paler than usual. When Hajime came to mind, Nagito didn't normally think of the word "pale".

Mustering another strained smile, Nagito teased the other boy to lighten the mood, echoing the words of his own past self: “You’re not going to feed me?” 

Hajime grumbled something about how his breakfast would consist primarily of dead insects tomorrow “if he was lucky” as he took the spoon in his hand, scooped up a spoonful of oatmeal, and shoved it in Nagito’s mouth. 

Cheeks stuffed full to bursting, the pale boy choked his food down, trying not to gag in the process. Though his eyes were watery and stung with overstimulation, he blinked the tears away quickly enough to notice the determined scowl on Hajime’s face as he loaded up the spoon once more. 

“Being gentle isn’t exactly your forte,” he rasped, “not that I mind, of course. Feel free to handle me as you see fit, I don't have the right to complain.” 

Oh, if looks could _kill_. 

He was met with another helping of oatmeal in response, this spoonful less rough. At least, it didn’t smack his tonsils as hard as the first. 

Once every last trace of oatmeal disappeared from the bowl, Hajime folded his arms in pointed satisfaction. 

“Not hungry, huh?” 

Nagito smothered a wheeze of laughter under the guise of coughing into his elbow. Hajime looked so pleased with himself, it was too cute. 

“I can’t get anything past you, Hajime,” he pretended to sigh, throwing up his hands--well, hand--in mock defeat. 

The Hajime in question raised an eyebrow, easing back slightly to give the pale boy a little more personal space. 

“Uh, you should probably know that... I can tell when you’re lying,” he started, absent-mindedly tugging at the collar of his shirt. 

“I’m not a very good liar to begin with, so that’s not much of a surprise. Besides, it would be disgusting for someone as vile as me to lie to you, Hinata.” 

Hajime opened his mouth as if to protest his trash-talking, then closed it. “Well, it’s not just you--I can tell when pretty much anyone’s lying. They’d have to be an Ultimate Liar if they wanted to fool me.”

After a few seconds, the puzzle pieces in his scattered brain clicked together. 

“You’re the Ultimate Hope?!” he blurted, shooting bolt upright as he nearly fell face first onto the ground. Fortunately, Hajime grabbed his shoulders and steadied him in the nick of time. 

“Yes… well, yes and no. Kind of.” 

Scratching his cheek modestly, Hajime broke their eye contact. Nagito’s eyes widened as he processed those words. 

“I’m not Izuru Kamukura. But I do have his talents, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

“I see.”

He hadn’t noticed it the previous evening, but one of Hajime’s eyes was no longer hazel--instead, a muted garnet red. His red eye looked especially intense as it roved over Nagito’s silhouette, no doubt analyzing his every movement and microexpression. 

He wasn’t worthy of so much scrutiny, he thought to himself, acutely aware of the way his collar bone was left exposed by Hajime’s sweatshirt. 

Nagito took advantage of the lull in their conversation. His eyes traced over Hajime's familiar curves and edges, drinking in his presence after a long, lonely draught. That one little spike of hair still stood up on his head like an antenna, snapping up out of place no matter how often he tried to smooth it down. 

A memory of Hajime standing by the window trying to tame his wild, pointy split ends with gel, only to jump and spill half of the bottle onto his shirt when he realized he was being watched, surfaced quietly. Remembering how he’d been cussed out immediately brought a thin smile to Nagito’s lips, one he forgot to smother with his hand. 

“...What?”

“Nothing. Actually, on second thought, the fever might be coming back.”

“Don’t even joke about that!” 

  
  
  
  


. . .

He thought about asking Hajime to give him a bath. 

After carefully considering the probability of an irreversible accident occurring, and coming to the conclusion that Hajime might actually do it (which would end with some nasty luck hot on their heels), he decided it would be too much of a favor. Besides, he doubted that anyone would want to see more of him than was normally visible. 

Something told Nagito he would do it--bathe him--if asked. He wasn’t sure what, considering how little affection Hajime held towards him when they last parted ways. But somehow, he knew. 

That thought didn’t scare him. So many people had seen him naked he’d lost count, what was one more? Such a handsome and talented person, no less. 

What scared him was the prized trump card in his collection being sweeped out from under his nose, leaving both his skin and heart bare for the one person who hadn’t given up on him yet to see. 

He used to be able to read Hajime like a book. Every small facial tic and muscle twitch alerted him to the spiky-haired boy’s mood, and it wasn’t difficult to puzzle out something close to his current thoughts from there. 

But all the little things that made Hajime so amusing to observe and provoke were gone, replaced with an ironclad poker face, one he suspected could rival that of the Ultimate Gambler. 

Several droplets of perspiration began to form on Nagito’s brow, giving his face a shimmery sheen. He ignored them in favor of dedicating his attention to the book in his lap. Staring at it intently, he did his best to pretend he wasn’t still on the first page.

In his defense, it wasn’t exactly easy to concentrate on light reading while the Ultimate Hope’s watchful eyes bore into your head. 

_Warm blood makes the richest ink._

He found himself reading the same sentence over and over again; fixating on it, unable to wring any further meaning from it. 

“Is something wrong?” 

“...Huh?” 

Hajime shifted, leaning forward in his chair. Where did he find a chair? 

“You seem troubled.” 

“Ah.” Well, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t. “I guess I’m not used to having company.”

Those beautiful asymmetrical eyes burned right into his soul. He clutched at his chest, running his hand over his ribcage to check for any scorch marks left behind, then paling when it dawned on him how careless that movement had been. 

“I can leave if you want--” 

“No.” 

Surprised by the force behind his own request, Nagito shuddered. It took a moment to collect his thoughts before he was ready to form words. 

“Stay.”

“...”

“Please.”

Hajime said nothing, but he decided to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still not sure how I want to characterize Hajime, but so far I feel like I've done a decent job of writing Nagito's perspective. 
> 
> Tell me--do you like the direction this work is going? Should I allow the underlying elements of angst (especially Nagito's luck cycle and currently unreciprocated pining) to play a bigger role in the narrative than it currently does? 
> 
> And, as a bonus: what do YOU think the quote "warm blood makes the richest ink" means? ( Why do you think someone as smart as Nagito is having so much trouble interpreting it? )
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts.


	3. Status Report

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hajime touches base with two familiar (ex?) Future Foundation operatives, providing a detailed report of their current situation. Based on Nagito’s condition, he’s going to need an extension.

Hajime had come prepared for many different worst case scenarios. Nagito could try to kill him, hurt himself, succumb to the despair disease and grow even weaker than before. Hell, he could even try to make him stay in this fabricated world for the rest of his life. 

If push came to shove, he’d have no qualms about knocking some sense into the pale boy, even going so far as to drag him out of his coma by the scruff of his neck. 

He spent his waking hours anticipating every possible future conversation between them, concentrating so hard it made his head ache. Figuring out what words Nagito needed to hear was easy, his Ultimate Psychologist talent made the task effortless. But saying them in the same way the old, pre-Kamukura Project participant Hajime Hinata would in order to coax Nagito into recovery was proving quite the challenge. 

At least he wasn’t bored. His ability to analyze people practically on sight made most social interactions boring. The minute he realized that, he’d been able to understand Izuru Kamukura’s actions a little better. 

His theory about how the cabin restocking itself was proven right almost instantly, and so he decided to undertake the long, arduous task of nursing Nagito Komaeda--who probably should have been given the title of Ultimate Walking Disaster--back to health. 

Tending wounds, bandaging patients up, and setting broken bones were all things he could do in a heartbeat. So why did he get the feeling patching him up wouldn’t be enough?

Rubbing his temples, Hajime took a seat at the cabin’s modest dining table. The sound of Nagito’s steady breathing could be heard from the bedroom, making it clear he wouldn’t wake up anytime soon. Hajime pulled out the small handheld tablet in his pocket and switched it on. While there was an abundance of data to collect from the inside of Nagito’s mind, he decided looking over the files they had on him might be of use. 

**_Subject 0216:_ ** _ Komaeda, Nagito. Five feet, eleven inches tall. 143 pounds. Chest: thirty-three inches. Blood type: O. Born April 28th. Talent: Ultimate Lucky Student (occasionally referred to as the “Ultimate Luckster”).  _

Impatiently, Hajime scrolled past the rest of the ‘general information’ section of his profile.

_ Subject 0216 collects artifacts left behind by the alumni of Hope’s Peak Academy. He dedicated much of his free time to researching the former (and present) student body. Based on data recovered from the recent rehabilitation project, it is likely that his interest in his fellow students stems from his tendency to place talented individuals on a pedestal. This corresponds to the available information on his core belief system, what appears to be the derivative of a nihilistic approach to life that centers itself on a singular focal point: hope. In the philosophy of Subject 0216, hope is true and absolute good, a force that will always prevail and is far greater than despair, therefore any impact of despair is rendered inconsequential. Death does not seem to faze him or render him incapable of rational thought, regardless of a stranger or one of his classmates is the deceased in question. He has shown no typical signs of grief in private, however, the presence of the video cameras may have influenced his expressed responses to further traumatic events. _

Makoto’s notes ended there. 

Exasperated, Hajime closed Nagito’s file. There was no point in reading any further, not when he’d spent a multitude of sleepless nights reading and re-reading the information he could find on those of his classmates who had yet to wake up, until he’d learned them by heart. Besides, he knew from firsthand experience--it would be impossible for Makoto to understand Nagito without interacting with him directly. 

Wait. Hold on a second. Maybe that was the answer. 

Against his better judgment, he opened the hidden compartment underneath the second letter “H” in his name on the backside of his tablet, fishing out a flash drive the size of his fingernail. He let it rest in the groove of his palm for a moment before plugging it in. Kyoko told him it was intended for emergency use only, and nothing less urgent. In his defense, she didn’t think to specify the operational definitions of “emergency” and “urgent.” (Or perhaps she had anticipated this twist as well.)

[ S Y S T E M O V E R R I D E E N G A G E D - P R O C E E D ? ]

> [ P R O C E E D . ]

[ C A N C E L . ]

[ B E G I N N I N G D A T A E X T R A C T I O N ]

[ P R O G R E S S - - 3 0 % - 7 0 % - 1 0 0 % ]

> [ P L A Y ]

[ E X I T ]

Hajime watched the screen buffer until a visual representation of sound waves came into view. With the flash drive, he was capable of tapping into not only all audio and visual files recorded during the killing game on Jabberwock Island, but Nagito’s memory system. Maybe the key to Nagito’s mental state could be found in the very words he’d said to Hajime. 

As he pressed play, an all too familiar voice sent chills down his spine.

_ 0216: “Hey… can you hear me?” _

_ 0216: “Are you okay? You seem pretty out of it.” _

_ 0216: “To be honest, I’m also… no, everyone else feels the same, too.” _

_ 0216: “Since we suddenly… got put in this weird situation.” _

_ 0216: “Hey, are you listening...?” _

Hajime closed his eyes, listening for cracks and peaks in the cadence of his voice. This would only prove useful if he could tell fact from fiction.

_ 0216: “ _ _ No...I haven't done anything to receive your thanks.” _

_ 0216: “But...for someone like me to be useful to you, and to even receive your words of gratitude...makes me happy.” _

True.

_ 0216: “ _ _ To tell you the truth, I'm really happy, Hajime.” _

True.

_ 0216: “With everything you've learned about me, you're still talking to me like this.” _

Despite being mentally prepared for what would come next, he found himself caught off guard by how vulnerable it made him feel. 

_ 0216: “My diagnosis.” _

_ 0216: “Stage 3 malignant lymphoma, and to top it off...it's accompanied by frontotemporal dementia.” _

Wait… he wasn’t lying?

_ 0216: “Even now...my brain is deteriorating bit by bit while I'm speaking to you…” _

Nagito didn’t say all these horrible, tragic things that made no sense just to fuck with him? 

_ 0001: “ _ _ Y-You're kidding me, right...? _ _ ” _

...

_ 0216: “ _ _ My life expectancy is between half a year to a year…” _

... What was this feeling?

_ 0216: “Now that I'm on the verge of death, I've finally realized what I wanted all along: somebody's love.” _

Fuck.

_ 0216: “...I read a book about something like that the other day.” _

...

_ 0216: “It was right of me to cite a book written for the masses. Thanks to that, I was able to gain your empathy.” _

The recording played on for a couple more minutes before it ended, automatically closing out of the file. Hajime, despite being rendered almost incapable of human emotion thanks to his brain surgery, sat dumbfounded. Now that he could see through Nagito’s lies, the only thing left with the ability to surprise him was the truth. 

No matter how many times he went over Nagito’s words in his mind, or how many angles he analyzed the situation from, it didn’t add up. While Nagito had a tendency to push people away due to his fear of abandonment, he stood to gain nothing from lying about his health to make Hajime think he was fine. 

Then a thought crossed his mind. One that made his skin prickle with sheer bewilderment at the prospect of it being true. A thought he tried to brush off as impossible, but couldn’t. 

Nagito was a selfish person. The worst kind of selfish, too--the kind that lived in denial about his actual selfishness, despite constantly berating himself for “selfish” minor missteps. And yet his selfish ways led him to act selflessly. The guy could become a walking paradox at a moment’s notice, and Hajime’s newfound ability to analyze and understand his personality did little to steer his efforts in the right direction. 

Maybe pushing people away was his way of showing them consideration, so they wouldn’t have to face the unpleasant reality of his suffering, or share his burdens. It probably had something to do with this ‘luck cycle’ he kept mentioning, he genuinely seemed to believe that every single tragic event in his life occurred because it was precluded by an equal and opposite case of good luck. 

If bad luck was the root of Nagito’s problems, it really was good luck that Hajime hadn’t given up on him yet. Assuming his theory was correct, Hajime was the only person who could actually help him. 

He ran his thumb over the flash drive in his hand. Hajime didn’t even need to look down to check, he knew it had short-circuited immediately upon removal. The undeniable truth was this: for whatever reason, Nagito cared about him. And now that he had no foolproof way out of this virtual paradise, Hajime was dead set on finding out why.

. . .

At exactly midnight, Hajime’s tablet burned to life. As he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, a notification from headquarters blinked across the screen. 

**MN_01:** _hey!_

**MN_01:** _ we haven’t heard from you for three days. is everything okay?  _

_ Shit _ . He’d spent so much time focusing on the task at hand that he’d forgotten to 

**0001:** _ Yeah, sorry for the delay.  _

He wasn’t, but it would be unnecessary to be curt with Makoto Naegi. (Much less alienate one of the few people left in the world who didn’t think of Hajime as a monster.)

**MN_01:** _ don’t worry about it! we’re glad you’re safe. _

**MN_01:** _ so… how’s the recovery mission going? _

Hajime needed to play his cards right, he couldn’t afford to come off as too cold or overly invested in the mission’s outcome. It took him less than a second to compute an appropriate response. 

**0001:** _ He’s worse than we thought. I underestimated the effects of the disease on his limbic system. _

**MN_01:** _ I see. that’s very unfortunate. _

**0001:** _ Komaeda’s stable, but I’m not convinced he’s reached the optimal recovery stage for extraction. If anything, he’s reached a plateau.  _

**MN_01:** _ sorry, hold on a second (she wants to talk) _

_ [ KK_02 has entered the chat. ] _

**0001:** _Good evening, Detective Kirigiri._

**KK_02:** _ What is your current position? _

Hajime sighed. Kyoko Kirigiri was blunt as always. 

**0001:** _ Inside his tether to reality, the old cabin. I guess he felt more at home there than in his old house. _

**KK_02:** _ Give me an evaluation of subject 0216.  _

**MN_01:** _ (please) _

Makoto’s hasty but polite interjection made the corners of his lips twitch upwards. Something about watching the two of them interact never failed to amuse him.

**0001:** _ Approximately an hour after launch, he developed a low grade fever. His temperature went down once he finally slept, and has been normal (if on the low end of the scale) ever since. I haven’t been able to evaluate him properly because he’s only awake for six hours a day and lucid for two.  _

**KK_02:** _ Has he responded negatively to outside stimulus? Perhaps you could try waking him up. _

Kyoko was not the type to leave any stones unturned. If possible, Hajime wanted to avoid antagonizing her.

**0001:** _ In my medical opinion, it would be unwise to interrupt his circadian rhythm.  _

**MN_01:** _ that’s understandable _

**0001:** _ Based on his current rate of recovery, I estimate his appetite will return within the next two days, at which point his need for physical rest will be greatly reduced. When we reach that milestone, I’ll introduce him to physical therapy exercises.  _

**0001:** _ That way, when his extraction is complete, his brain will have familiar information to latch onto. I’d like to avoid as much stagnation as possible.  _

**KK_02:** _Understood._

**KK_02:** _ What is the subject’s probability of total and permanent regression?  _

It wasn’t that he never considered the odds that Nagito might never recover, he knew there was always a chance. However, when he stopped to consider what that chance looked like in numbers, he felt the pit in his stomach grow. 

**0001:** _ 67% on arrival.  _

And then, in a heartbeat, Hajime did something just as if not more reckless than planting a bomb in the dining hall to draw out a traitor. 

**0001:** _ Currently 49.3% and falling.  _

He lied. 

**MN_01:** _ whoa, that’s a big difference in such a short time! _

**KK_02:** _ Have you isolated the variable that caused the rapid decrease?  _

**0001:** _ No, not yet. I’m looking into it. I’ll have him ready for extraction and find a cure for all strains of the despair disease if you give me more time to conduct my research.  _

**KK_02:** _ You have two weeks to complete your mission. _

Raising his eyebrows, Hajime decided not to question the ulterior motives that no doubt lurked behind her generosity. 

**0001:** _ Thank you for your patience. Both of you. _

**MN_01:** _ of course! don’t hesitate to contact us if there’s anything you need help with! _

_ [ MN_01 has left the chat. ]  _

**KK_02:** _ Hinata, allow me to clarify something. You’re intelligent enough to anticipate what I’m about to tell you, but anticipation doesn’t hold the same weight as an order.  _

**KK_02:** _ I am not optimistic about the odds that Komaeda will survive. If they drop below 30%, withdraw from the simulation within 24 hours. Effective immediately.  _

**0001:** _ Understood, Detective.  _

_ [ KK_02 has left the chat. ]  _

The sound of Nagito’s breathing pulled Hajime back into his surroundings. His breaths were labored, but not as shallow as they’d been on the first night. It was clear now that he wouldn’t improve without intervention, and so he propped himself up against the headboard to ponder the most efficient place to intervene. 

As if to glean something new from the information he’d reviewed nothing short of a hundred times, Hajime shifted his gaze to the sleeping boy. He was curled up into a fetal position, shivering at uncalculated intervals. Eyes screwed shut, wispy white hairs stuck to his face, coated in a cold sweat. Hajime didn’t have to reach out his hand, he knew Nagito would feel clammy to the touch. Even with the tattered old sweatshirt wrapped around his shoulders, he couldn’t seem to get warm. 

_ It’s stupid for a tropical island to get cold at night. _

Hajime’s eyes found the place where the other boy’s arm ended. Nagito still wasn’t used to not having both arms, and the look on his face when he realized why he couldn’t hold things with both hands made his unhappiness clear. Even the Ultimate Hope couldn’t exactly pull a prosthetic arm out of thin air, and despite Nagito’s improved health, not a blanket could be found in the cabin. 

More than anything else in the world, Hajime Hinata hated feeling helpless.

And so, tuning out the voices protesting in the back of his head, he huddled up against Nagito. Draping one arm around his shoulder, he used his free hand to periodically check the other boy’s temperature. 

Despite being a light sleeper, Nagito barely stirred at the sensation. He nestled into the crook of Hajime’s elbow, pressing his chest up against his companion’s side in an unconscious effort to search for the source of this new warmth. Nagito’s chilly nose poked into his collar bones, almost making him stiffen in an attempt to contain a shiver of his own, but thankfully the urge passed. 

He wouldn’t be caught dead doing this in broad daylight, he reassured himself. It was just an extra security measure, you could never be too careful when dealing with a guy like Nagito. Strictly for survival. He could feel Izuru judging him as he decided to ignore the warmth spreading to his own head, but pretended to study the sleeping boy for any more early warning signs of sickness.

For some reason, a 28% chance of survival didn’t sound so bad to Hajime. And even if he changed his mind, he’d already chosen to bet everything he had on Nagito.

_ Lucky bastard.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I know this chapter is late, I'm really sorry! ( In my defense, it's kind of hard to write gay fanfiction when my homophobic parents are sitting right next to me 24/7. )
> 
> This isn't really a question for you to answer, it's more of a hint for the next chapter--Hajime is thinking about giving Nagito a present to ground himself in reality, and maybe even help him cope better with the trauma he's endured. 
> 
> I'm curious to know, what kind of present(s) do *you* think would make Nagito feel better? 
> 
> There are no wrong answers, you can list ideas from hugs and books to weaving a blanket out of grass ( because it's about damn time he gets one ) . Let me know what type of gift you think would make Nagito happy!


End file.
